So like I hope yer not all beginning to feel like Bastion, and I hope you know, of course, that I have other stuff that I’m itching to get to, I have chapters of Left Turn to put up ( a couple quick ones [16 & 17] before things start really heating up in Chapter 18), I swear I will post one tonight……plus there’s all this politickin’ and acculturatin’ goin’ on, but though I am nearly incapable of being responsible, almost assuredly one of the biggest Manyana-ites yer ever to meet…, writing down the crazy ass bull shit of tornadic activity that takes place in my brain on a second by second basis is probably the one exception to this rule…oh and I do hate to leave things unfinished (again probably mostly referring to fun creative stuff more than anything else lol…)
But okay anyway and again Cat’s N Kittens it’s me
So I wanna finish the story in a few hundred words(meaning of course under 1000) not counting links to poetry. So lets see we’re in the early 90′s right? My life is less topsy and his fabulous turvys, ( age, maturity etc, plus I’ve stopped doing coke, meth,[completely] and hallucinogenics[mostly] oh and there”s the disability money)I’m attending a lot of local open readings, and as my poetry improves I begin to pick up some featured spots…
First ya have to understand that I learned pretty quickly how bad and exactly why and where my early attempts at performance poetry and more importantly and specifically my poetry sucked weak ass(thanks to tough and brutally honest older poets[thanks again Lee & others unnamed])…but like I said, I was a quick study.
One of the best and most valuable pieces of advice was to change how I lay my poems out on the page and to drop the whole ee cummings lower case thing (seeing as it was “his thing not mine”…lol great advice old poet whose name is now lost to time). His second point regarding my poems structure on the page was as eloquent and simple as was his guidance fer the “ee” dilemma…”ya do want people to be able to read it right?” he asked.
His point once I understood it was this, without an extremely valid reason as to why, making the poem more difficult for the reader to decipher draws attention from the words…
Sound, sound logic. I immediately changed both features of my written word.
The next advice, stop being so freaking overtly overbearingly preachy when you read….beats, hippies, they already ranted and quite possibly raved about it all, so if yer gonna do it, try bringing something new to the table besides the same tired old all injustaphores and opressionisms, and fer God’s sake, if yer gonna talk about politics and the culture, be funny.
Okay I was ready fer all that. I had been, ever since my six year old Ogden Nash period, a fan of funny over frowns. Here’s a great example of the next stage in my poetry story…click on the homeless guy’s sign.
S0 we’re at about 1992, the Aguanga kid is born, I’m living with his mother, on SSI etc so I don’t have to worry ’bout work and can concentrate on art. I’m doin features and making, at least in my little corner, a name fer myself. As I mentioned in the last post I did well in “poetry contest”, and honed much of my poetry production to producing poems matching my somewhat unhinged performing persona particularly (oh lol) suited to these contest (and as yet off my radar slams[though I am to 'understand' they are happening soon])and in the process my “voice” was born…While the above links are some of the “audience favorites[hits] the following poem really captures (I think, and is one of my favorites) what I am trying to do..just click on the persimmon fer the link…
This poem really, I feel exemplifies my voice, stripped of all the performance gimmicks, focused on a moment, the poetry of life, in this instance the conversation becomes the metaphor, at least I think, I hope, I feel that’s what I am going for…in hindsight, cause ya see my faithful readers, I didn’t set out to write this way, this is the way I write…when all is stripped away…when the pretense, and manufactured intentions, and tryin to be’s, and tryin to sound likes, and the pretentiousness of the Artie Mann, are all killed off through diligent applied effort, what is left is the real voice of the poet…in my specific case it lead to many people (all super cool poets) saying “It’s not really poetry though is it?” “Where’s the imagery? They’d ask…( I mean I always thought personally that “The old guy wearing California skin…” was halfway okay, I mean not Neruda or anything…)but imagery’s not my strength, and I decided long ago that being real, the poet I was, was far more important than either a: teaching myself to be someone elses idea of a poet, or pretending to be the same?
So that’s what I rolled with by late 92′ early ’93 I was pulling at east a couple featured readings a month, either sharing the bill or gong solo and carrying the night on my ever expanding body of work, always entertaining performance, all the oddity expected, delivered guaranteed ….this was just one of the reasons I got the nickname “Psycho Boy“
Okay so rock ‘em sock ‘em robots Cat’s n Kittens I swore I’d get outta here at less than a thousand words (though I may have implied I’d finish er up also….well it is what it… lol)….comin soon Pt 6
April 25, 2012
Here at Ol’ 409 Enterprises Inc. we are quite proud to announce that we have been nominated fer the Kretive Blogger award…
That’s what really is boggin the process down, wanna make sure the Kreative Blogger award post is…well creative…but it’s comin ya ol cat’s and kittens so just hang in there…
I also have half a post about more “man” stuff finishing up on the thoughts I was rollin with a couple posts back…
And comin soon, hot on the “man” posts heels is an idea I just got from readin a blog I follow it’s gonna be all about my worst two (near)dating experiences…don’t wanna give too much away but one ends with me bloodied…no no you’ll just have to wait…
Okay anyway remember adult themes etc…
Home. To say it wasn’t much would be an understatement. The place used to be a repair shop or a commercial garage. It got turned into an efficiency somewhere in the 80’s ( I guess there was a real estate bubble here in the eighties who would’a thunk it). Anyway, the place was cheap, 325 plus 5o for utilities, and it didn’t have bars; and the toilet was all fucking mine. It’s the little things that count.
Anyway I’d lived here for a little over a month now. I ended up in Wennler the day after I got released from the state pen in Sioux Falls. I was better off than many cons getting out; I had money. Going in I had $2275.00 all together, not a lot but now it was enough to get back out to Cali, or Las Vegas. See I wasn’t planning on staying in South Dakota; I mean God, its South Dakota, but the first ride I got changed my plans.
I guess it will help to know a little of my background. I’m a bad guy, or was a bad guy definitely, pre incarceration, a regular gun wielding wild west type. I rode a bike, but was unaffiliated as it were with any organized group, not that I hadn’t been asked in my early days, I just had trouble with authority, any authority.
I got busted in August of ’83 in Sturgis at the bike rally, distribution, possession, assault with a fire-arm. I was twenty-two. I got forty-five years, which meant I could’a been out in fifteen or so with good behavior. I pulled an extra dime, sorry ten years, early on though fuckin up.
I started getting my shit together after that. I wasn’t going to be like some of these jokers, I didn’t want spend all of my adult life behind bars. I didn’t study law or nothin’ like that. I didn’t really better my life, I don’t know that’s just not my shit, I worked out, did my time; just got through it. The one thing I did change is I started going to church. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t get all Bibley or nothing, didn’t get all weepy with my fellow con’s ‘bout finding their way to the Lord. I still don’t even know if I believe, I want to; but I haven’t seen a lot of evidence of the Good Works in my life.
I was born in Vegas, grew up in a trailer park the second son of a “Show Girl”. Mom had never married but had a series of boyfriends; who, like her job and her prospects for a happy future grew increasingly sordid and sleazy as the years progressed. The best I could hope for from these men was indifference; but and especially in the later years, violence was just as likely.
We moved, or I should say we were moved to Bakersfield California when I was fourteen by my Mom’s new boyfriend; a “Devils” meth dealer. My eighteen year old brother had left home so I was the now the oldest, Dee, my younger sister was two years younger, and Ronnie was just a little baby. The meth dealer, Carl, was a real ass. He beat my mom, beat the shit out of me, regularly threatened to kill little Ronnie; Dee was the only one he was nice too. Even at thirteen the subtleties of this did not escape me entirely. Carl had regular trade and he and his buddies were moving lot’s of product, which was the one advantage for me because I got to learn a lot of the business, first by just observing, then by making runs for the guys.
You might think it’s weird going to work for Carl and his friends. If so you did not grow up the same way. These adults, as dysfunctional, as criminal and violent as they were, were my role models. The other thing Carl and countless adults before him, including my own mother taught me at a young age was that I was on my own; the world was monstrously cruel, capricious violence was just around every corner and only the toughest prosper. Carl was the worst, but he was only one in a long succession, Carl was the sharpening stone for the blade that others forged. And you either worked for Carl or you got out.
I think I’ve talked enough about all that.
In the spring of ‘76 Carl and two other Devils were gunned down by Hell’s Angels in what was described as a “turf war” . I was young and stupid and desperate to avoid meeting the next Carl. The house and most of the crap in it, including my mother, my sister, and quite possibly even me, were now considered Devils property.
The one thing I knew, knew above everything else, was that of all the property in the house, there was only one they considered really valuable, the drugs. I didn’t know how much there was at that moment, but I knew there was a lot. I took it all and ran. I was fifteen, not even legally allowed to drive in California, but with nearly a pound and half of meth, three kilos of weed, a shot-gun, two hand guns and scales and weights and a fucking lot of baggies rolling around loose in the back of a tricked out Ford Econoline, no license was the least of my worries.
That was the start of my street career sounds romantic, sounds exciting. The Devils killed my Mom and little Ronnie, I read about it in a newspaper a few months later; I still don’t know what happened to Dee. I swore revenge of course. Uselessly it turns out as the small upstart band of hard core bikers known as the Devils are no longer. Most killed over drug sales with both the Hells Angels and the Hessians during the cocaine crazed ‘80’s. The rest, who the fuck knows, when I was first in the pen I tried to find out if any were in the system somewhere, some lone Devil, or ragged left over’s; that’s one of the things that got me in trouble. But I’m not going to talk about that either.
The thing is, what I am trying to say is, that after the trouble, I vowed to keep it under control, Church helped that; the ritual, the call to faith. I never kidded myself that I was going to Heaven, no that’s a lie, sometimes I think about it. I guess I really don’t believe that if there’s a Heaven, God is going to let me in not after what I’ve done, but I should at least try. When I meet the bastard I wanna be able to say I gave it my best shot
So when I got out of the pen with my idea to head west, back to my roots it is with no real plan. I tell myself I am going to get back there and find a job; tell myself I am going to avoid trying to contact old friends, avoid my old life. But I can feel the lie in my own gut.
With the money I had I could’ve taken a flight out of Sioux Falls, or at least caught a bus west, but I didn’t feel right about either thing; just hitchin’ felt good, like the right path.
The world had changed, cars were…well there were a lot of them I’d seen on TV, but it still felt weird the first time a Hummer drove by. Anyway I’m getting off track. Maybe subconsciously it was the opportunity to find a new path that made me choose hitching, I can’t say. But the first guy who picked me up, Steve, just happened to run a grocery store in Wennler. He was a good guy, a real stand up straight, family man, church go ‘er, small town to the core; but honest and unpretentious. He and I, or the person I was trying hard to be, hit it off and by the end of the ride he had offered me a small position with his store in Wennler.
He wasn’t being phony, he never told me I could work my way to management. He was offering me, as he put it, a chance to figure out who I am and where I want to go. I told him I would work hard and not let him down.
He’s offered once to take me to church with his family on Sunday (not that I couldn’t walk, the towns only ten blocks wide) I haven’t taken him up on it yet.
But so here I am. My little home in Wennler South Dakota. Like I said the place is small. I don’t have a TV yet, but I have a little radio. That’s okay. I was never much of a TV guy, and new music, don’t get me started. I exercise, push ups and crap. If I get real bored I walk the gravel roads. Try to figure out, like Steve said, who I am and where I am going.
April 17, 2012
Well okay..well..I mean F ‘n A everybody so I’ve written a lot about the state of our Federal Government, I mean probably only a little less than I have written about how women are ruining America (“Wha…wha…wha…what?” you the reader ask…look I don’t have time to go back and re cover every crazy thing I have ever said…go back here and look it up…today I got bigger fish on my mind…today I’m kind’a pissed off…
Look so by now if you are paying any attention at all you know that the General Services Administration or GSA just spent a whopping $8000,000 (+) on planning and vacation(s) fer 300 employee’s….that’s the easy breezy cover girl version tryin to review all the different facets, facts, well in the long run it just made me too pissed off to continue…and then of course my little dog starts spinning and I start looking up all this info on the fed.gov websites and I read all the new age hoo doo ass bullshit and my little dog spins round and round(here’s where Lil’ Mouse usually tells me “to just stop lookin’”) and well…well…well it is to laugh really.
Cause I know nothin’s gonna change…oh some of us will get mad and blog about it(most of course, much more professionally than the ol Dysu)…there will be investigations (themselves well topping the 800,000 price tag of the VV.) Some heads will roll, careers cut short (or in some cases just diverted)…but the system itself, the great and mighty machine will keep rollin along…
See ’cause ya know what else I know is that we got just a small glimpse, a peek behind the curtain, but thank God we did, and in this instance thank God fer Social Media, the magicians keep F’n up because of social media, the slight of hand is hard to pull off when you keep posting gloating pictures of how you fleeced the marks
But of course I digress ’cause my real point is so the F what? So what if they did? And I’m sure ol’ smiley in the tub here is thinkin’ the same thing, I mean it wasn’t but six months or so that we were hearin’ this story
House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi is the subject of a report on the stock investments of members of Congress that is to air Sunday on CBS’ “60 Minutes.”…
I know, I know old news, the worlds movin’ too fast, too fast to keep up and hell there’s so only so much time and I mean after all there’s all those HBO programs to keep up with, and isn’t Charlie Sheen gettin a new sitcom…
That’s what I mean by nothin’s gonna change. And there was a brief moment a year or two back when I first heard about the Tea Party…”Yea, here we go” I thought, but go to their website and all you see is talk about working with-in the system to change it…oh ho ho…oh it is to laugh….
I think the idea started good, but it was co-opted by politicios…okay what do I mean…Go look at their site…lot’s of talk, little action..okay again I guess clarification..
Better yet, here’s what I propose, tax revolt, we all go into our boss, or accountant(s) and claim all the dependents we can, then when tax time comes next year don’t fill out one document, let April 15th come and go without feelin’ bad or worryin. Every time you do start to feel a twang of guilt just picture this guy again
And yea, that might not work fer yer situation, I mean normally I get a refund so that’s the way I could do it but, you might be in a higher tax bracket than me (lol like that would be hard) what I mean is if enough of us say ya know what we ain’t paying anymore till you get yer crap together well what are they gonna do, jail a million people, jail ten million people…now that’s a Tea Party Movement I can get behind
Wait I’m sorry what…What about the roads? What about old people? What about the poor? Well what I believe is we’re Americans, we can figure it out without the help of the money wasters in Washington ( I mean not me but one of you out there, ya don’t want me in charge, I’m no better at making important decision than obviously most of our government officials). I mean it’s coming my fellow Americans the pace of growth by our federal government is fiscally unsustainable. I may not be good at practical application of these concepts, but I understand them quite well…and well ya know I know, and I hope I’m not throwin off yer good mood fer later when you sit down to watch “Two Broke Girls” or what the fuck ever…I mean I hate ta bring this shit up…